


Fault in the Code

by sarai377



Series: Cyborg AU [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarai377/pseuds/sarai377
Summary: Robin, a Plegian cyborg, is Ylissean prince Chrom’s right-hand man. Before their final battle against the Plegian invasion force, Robin notices a strange application called Grima.exe was downloaded into his programming.For Corrupted - Chrobinweek 2018 promptmChrobin





	Fault in the Code

< _Warning: pressure on right arm components. Recommend adjusting position >_

_< Grima.exe download started_>

< _All systems functioning normal >_

_<_ Shepherd _interspace propulsion: 63% capacity >_

_< Temperature: Brain, 37.2 C>_

< _Temperature: Chrom, 34.1 C > _

 

Robin wakes to a soft snore and a warning about his cyborg arm. Chrom lays close. His cheek is pillowed on Robin’s bare shoulder. Their skin clings, warmth shared between them. Robin could wake like this for a hundred years and it would never grow old.

Red text streams up one side of his display. He studies the notifications, accumulated while he slept, with vague interest. Their spaceship - the _Shepherd_ \- is fine, propelled on thrumming boosters through deep space toward their destination. Most of the others are sleeping. Robin should be, too - he was up far too late the previous night, giving schematics and plans a final look-over.

He curls his arm around Chrom, and the prince snuggles closer. Robin does not sense with his right arm the same way he does with his left - synapses fire and give the impression of touch, but it’s not the same. If his cyborg arm were real, it would be numb from Chrom’s sleeping weight, and he suspects that is what woke him.

The components in his brain interact oddly with his human-side, even after almost a year of living like this. At least, he thinks he’s been like this for only a year. He remembers nothing before waking in that Ylissean field, with Chrom bending over him, backlit by sunlight.

Portions of Robin’s brain and his whole right arm, back to the shoulderblade, were replaced with electronics. He’s got better than average mobility and strength, and according to tests, genius-level intelligence.

His attention catches on the unfamiliar download in the queue. _Grima.exe_ … It tugs at his memory banks, and for an instant Robin almost thinks an old file or memory will surface. But the sensation passes.

Every so often, he receives mandatory software updates, usually pushed through while he’s sleeping. There are security measures in place that will keep anything particularly degenerative from, say, stopping his heart or causing a critical failure. But aside from that, whoever installed these components can push through all manner of executables and Robin has no say in it. The updates are traceable to a secure connection somewhere on Plegia, but Robin hasn't been able to narrow it down any further.

Chrom believes that whoever gave him these cyborg parts saved Robin’s life… but Robin isn’t so sure. At first, most of Chrom’s commandos worried that Robin was dropped in Chrom’s path as a Plegian spy. Frederick was especially watchful. But as the months passed and Robin earned and held their trust, that fear faded from their minds. The Ylisseans accepted him as their tactical specialist, and Chrom accepted him in other capacities.

Why had he been left there, in that field, body still reeling from the installation? Who would go through the trouble of saving his body, of restoring his arm and brain, and then abandon him? Had he been just some experiment--

“You’re thinking too loud,” a warm voice, crackling with sleep, interrupts. Blue eyes squint up at him, and Robin quirks a smile. His body softens at that loving expression, even his cyborg parts. Robin’s real hand moves to run through blue hair, silken and sleep-tousled.

“Sorry,” Robin says, his voice slightly higher than Chrom’s.

Chrom smiles at him, unguarded, pure, and Robin’s heart - still human, thank the stars - squirms. _I don’t deserve this_ , he thinks, and not for the first time, or even the fiftieth. _I’m a nobody, a Plegian cyborg… I don’t belong in the Ylissean ruler’s bed, in his confidences_.

The space and moons surrounding Ylisse and Plegia, twin planets orbiting a single yellow giant, has been hotly contested for centuries. The two cultures are as different as oil and water, as the vacuum of space compared with the delicate warmth of Chrom’s skin. Plegia was always the less-fertile of the two, and its natural resources were depleted centuries ago. Most Plegians live under domes, and long for the fertile lands of their sister planet or the Ylissean-occupied moons.

Ylisse would share, if Plegia wasn’t so prideful - _Chrom_ would share, Robin knows in his heart he would. Even if it would make the Ylissean people resent him for the rest of his days, Chrom would offer their abundance to Plegia. The prince is much too tender for this position. But Robin loves him for it, all the same. It’s what keeps Robin by his side, a moth to a lightbulb.

And anyway, Plegia would rather take than ask for help.

When Chrom slides up from Robin’s shoulder, coming in for a kiss, Robin pushes his face away. Stubble scratches against Robin’s palm.

“Ugh, your breath,” he says, and twists his cyborg arm out from beneath Chrom’s bulk. The warning, a soft yellow in the corner of his vision, disappears.

Chrom grins into Robin’s neck. “You should talk.” The prince settles for leaving a kiss on the rising pulse in his throat, then glances across Robin to the nightstand, where a little blue set of numbers hangs above a projector.

“We’ve got time,” he says, almost to himself. He slides himself on top of Robin, straddling his legs. The lightweight sheet falls off his body, exposing it to the dim light emanating from the wall-panels. Robin’s hands settle at Chrom’s sides, thumbs caressing his hipbones, one metal and one flesh. If Chrom notices the differences in the touches, he doesn’t comment.

Chrom leans over him. Robin surrenders to the touch on his own jaw, tilting with insistence into an almost-chaste kiss. Robin loves this, morning breath and all, and he happily complies when Chrom deepens it. Robin’s hands move from Chrom’s hips, up to his heart - elevated pulse, rapid breathing, his sensors supply, glittering red behind his closed eyelids.

The prince slides up, pressing their bodies together.

Robin feels Chrom’s eagerness hard and firm against his thigh. Chrom makes a soft little moan, and Robin feels suddenly more awake, as if he’s surrounded by low-voltage current. Chrom moves to his neck, drawing his mouth along his larynx, hands shifting to draw them both together, and -

“Sir,” comes the call, through the speakers above the door. “Sir, are you awake?”

Frederick.

Robin’s head falls back to the pillows, and he bites down a sound of annoyance.

Chrom looks as if he might rip the speaker off the wall, if he could reach it. Muscles cord in his arms. “We’re _busy_ ,” he growls.

“You asked me to wake you,” Frederick says, calm and unhurried like always.

“We should…” Robin says, half-heartedly, and then bites his bottom lip as Chrom takes him in hand. He will _not_ make a sound that will alert Frederick to their activities. It’s not that Frederick disapproves of their relationship. All of Chrom’s people know they are a couple. But Robin has sensibilities.

Sensibilities that have abandoned Chrom this morning.

Robin squeezes his eyes closed as Chrom squeezes him, muscles going rigid in his back and stomach with the effort of keeping silent.

“We’ll come out when we’re done,” Chrom tells Frederick, an air of command in his tone, and leans in to kiss Robin, as if Frederick were not listening in.

_At least he cannot see us_ , Robin thinks, and kisses Chrom back.

Frederick sighs, the long-suffering sound of a subordinate who has grown used to his commander’s ways, but still disapproves. Then there’s a soft click, and the speaker goes silent.

“We should...” Robin says again, but stops. Tension sings in the spaces between Robin’s analytical mind and his desire, awoken by Chrom.

Chrom pulls back, something sharp and edged in his face. “If - if anything happens today… I don’t want either of us to regret this morning. I want us both to remember it.”

It hits Robin like a fist to his abdomen. He curls against it, presses his eyes to Chrom’s collarbone, smelling his soft skin. Chrom holds him close. Robin had managed to forget, for a few minutes, what comes today. He shoves those thoughts aside, puts a restriction on them, presses them away into storage. _Not now_. A small white box disappears into the corner of his display.

“Okay,” Robin says, his voice as tight as his eyes. “Okay, Chrom.” _Anything for you_ , he almost says, but the words won’t come. They are a solid, unflinching truth in Robin’s core. All of his favorite memories came from Chrom, and he already cannot imagine a life without him.

Chrom leans in for a kiss, and it’s as fierce and confident as their first was gentle and uncertain.

The touch of skin shared between them feels more intense than before. Their body heat rises, although not in a bad way. Robin watches beneath lowered lids as red symbols show Chrom’s vitals, all the information communicated via touch and electronics. When they reach a certain point, he dismisses them, leaving his sight notification-free, so he can have this moment - have Chrom - without distraction.

Frederick doesn’t interrupt again, and Chrom makes it count.

Only when they are done, a sweaty, tangled mess of caressing limbs and panted breath, does Robin allow himself to contemplate today. He calls back that little box of tangled emotions.

Their final battle. Or so he hopes. Everything has led them here, to this, the smallest of their shared moons, called the Table, although Robin doesn’t know where the name came from. In an hour or two, all of Chrom’s commandos will don their exosuits, pick up their weapons - and fight for their lives.

“Chrom, will you… please be careful, today?”

Chrom raises his face from the crook of Robin’s neck. His smile is off, like that of a porcelain statue. “You know I can’t promise that.”

Robin sighs. “I know.”

“But we’ll be together. We’ll protect each other.”

That will have to do.

Robin touches Chrom’s cheek, and Chrom cups his hand to his face. Even Chrom’s blood pressure is up, all his vitals blinking steadily once more in Robin’s vision. Robin can sense Chrom’s reluctance to leave the safety and comfort of their shared bed, and he feels the same - but it has to happen. The fate of Chrom’s whole planet rests in the hand that massages Robin’s knuckles.  

“Ready?” Chrom whispers, his mouth quavering.

“Let’s go,” he says, although he isn’t.

 ~*~

 Robin glances across the prince’s people. _His_ people, their trust hard-won. They stand there, a motley assortment, the best of the Ylisseans. He can’t see their faces clearly through viewports and helmets, but he knows they are ready by their small movements - Sully’s light-hearted punch toward Vaike for a comment, Frederick testing the heft of his spear, Nowi’s dragon-shaped, alien exosuit leaning close to Cherche’s, inspecting Cherche’s mech-mount.

In his right eye, a constant stream of checks and controls rolls by, tinted deep crimson to stand out against the dark surroundings of the launch bay. The lush green and blue of the largest moon hangs close by, looming through the airlock.

_< Falchion: primed and ready>_

_< Minerva fuel: go>_

_< Levin sword: Optimal battery charge reached>_

_< Stahl and Gaius’s exosuits back to full functionality>_

_<_ Shepherd: _Awaiting further orders. Standing by >_

Robin cycles through the comm channels with a thought, until he arrives on a silent one.

Beside him, Chrom draws Falchion from his belt and extends the blade. It glitters, singing through the air, almost like wind through pipes, before it stabilizes. The blade knows Chrom’s hand, knows his blood, and will only activate for someone of royal ancestry. Chrom’s daughter Lucina will wield it once she comes of age, but she is barely two, and too young to even attempt it. He swings it, graceful and bright, a flash of electric blue searing Robin’s retinas for an instant.

Chrom spots him watching, and sheathes the great sword.

Robin winks away the notifications, turning to Chrom to give an update. As they fade, he spots a deep violet line of text.

< _Grima.exe installation complete_ >

He blinks, and calls the notifications back up, but it’s not there.

Robin knows what he saw. He flicks his right hand and text fills his vision as he hunts for the distinctive identifier. Tracing through his files will take too much time, but he sets a preliminary search. It comes back empty.

“Everything all right?” Chrom asks on their private channel.

“Just an update,” Robin says, and pinches his right fingers together, spinning the database across his vision. “Damned inconvenient…”

“Can’t you stop it?”

_< Heartrate: Chrom, 103 bpm> _

“It’s fine,” Robin says, and waves off the notifications and the search. He looks up at Chrom, and grips his shoulder, and smiles. “I’m fine.” But a little nagging worry is rising, caught in his throat.

“Chrom,” he says, hesitant.

Chrom winces. “Don’t…”

“I told you. If you get a message that I’m… that I’ve…” His mouth goes dry, or maybe it’s been dry all along.

Chrom looks away. “Corrupted. I know, Robin. You remind me _every_ battle.”

Robin touches Chrom’s exosuit’s shoulder. “Go for the-”

“The neck, I know.” Chrom turns those disarming blue eyes on Robin, his hand resting on Falchion’s hilt. “One more battle, and you’ll never have to mention this again.”

Robin comes closer, hope rising to clog his throat, and he swallows it down again. A life… without fighting. A life where they can court, and woo, and settle down to grow old together. Raise Lucina, and maybe others, a proud legacy.

Chrom told Robin about it, once, everything he wants them to share after the fighting is over. Robin replays that memory often, for the sincerity in Chrom’s gaze, the way he grips Robin’s hand - those subtle and not-subtle ways Chrom proves what Robin means to him.

Neither of them have voiced what will happen if they fail here, but it is shared between their eyes, blue and brown.

“Fight for me,” Chrom says, and flips up his face-shield. Robin shucks his own helmet in one motion, his cyborg fingers gripping the curved surface tight. Chrom leans in and kisses Robin, fierce, bracing, and when they part, Robin is grinning. A kiss for luck has become their tradition.

“I’ll fight for you,” Robin says, and raises his Levin sword, sparking with light. “I’ll fight for you through nova or the depths of space. And then… ”

“And then.” Chrom smiles, and raises his own sword. They clink their swords together like glasses at a feast, delicate and crystal.

Neither needs to say what will happen, when they win.

Robin puts his helmet back on, and as one, they turn to their awaiting elite.

~*~

The battle isn’t as hard as Robin expects. He is wary of a trap, tension rising within him as they storm the recently-taken stronghold, guarding the fertile valley.

In the main control room, the Plegians make their final stand.

Chrom goes for the leader, and Robin follows, leaving the rest under Frederick’s willing management. It isn’t even that troubling when the Plegian leader seals Chrom and Robin in with him, raising an energy barrier behind them once they approach. Their healers won’t be able to reach them, but they both have full supplies of adrenaline and blood-response kits activated in their exosuits, primed for discharge at the first sign of injury. And they are together, knowing each other’s moves and tells, reading subtle reactions without needing more than a single word.

King Validar is cunning, and his long-range attacks are fierce. He fights for his kingdom’s livelihood, for what he believes will save his planet from eventual destruction. Here at the Table, he hopes for victory, to clear every last Ylissean from the moon’s surface.

He fails.

Robin distracts the king, drawing him into a foolish attack, and Chrom lays a well-timed strike. The Plegian king collapses, and falls still.

Chrom lets out a long sigh, and they look at each other for a moment. Robin works his real shoulder, strained from a bad fall. Chrom’s leg is bleeding above one of the suit plates, but aside from minor aches, they are unharmed.

Robin focuses on the stream of notifications from their commandos. No casualties yet, although there are injuries.

“Secure the shields,” Chrom says, breathing hard, and sheathes his sword. In desperation, Plegia has done crazy things - and Robin isn’t certain that Plegia wouldn’t raze the installation to the ground, rather than let Ylisse continue to hold it.

As Robin communicates with the installation’s AI, something catches his attention in the data stream.

_< Plasma build up 2.4 meters NW>_

Robin turns, and sees two things simultaneously - Chrom has turned to the nearest computer, attempting to bring down the barrier - and the Plegian king has crawled to his knees at Chrom’s unprotected back.

_Stupid_ , Robin thinks, already moving, _I should have made sure he was good and dead!_

Validar raises his arm and hurls a final energy burst from his hand-held generator. The purple ball blossoms and unfurls like a strange fireball, growing larger as it absorbs the oxygen in the air. It goes right for Chrom.

“Chrom!” Robin shouts. Chrom looks up, away from the attack, and then over his shoulder. Robin’s cyborg arm catches Chrom across the chest, shoving him and his heavy suit out of harm’s way.

The purple fireball consumes Robin.

“Robi--!” Chrom’s shout is absorbed in sudden, bitter silence.

_< Error>_

_< Error>_

_< Damage - external - ulna broken>_

_< Damage - internal - core overloaded>_

_< Ground secured - siphoning excess energy>_

_< Error>_

< _Sensory data overload - initiating reboot_ >

 

Robin blinks his eyes slowly open. The world is tilted onto its side. His hip aches, and the flesh of his face tingles, half-numb. Something in his left wrist might be broken, despite the suit. His right arm feels as it always has - cold, all physical sensation reduced to flashing red lines in his vision. There’s rather a lot of that, red symbols, darting up and away.

He’s slow to remember exactly what happened. He calls for the previous minute’s memories to replay at 4x speed, but they don’t. Forced to remember the old-fashioned way, bits and pieces return. Validar - Chrom -

_Chrom_. Is he okay?

Robin’s eyesight fills with red text, until everything outside is coated in it, like blood splattered against a window. It’s too fast, too much. One purple line lingers for a moment before it too is gone.

Something is wrong.

Chrom falls to his knees beside Robin, and reaches for him. Urgency is in every motion, but when he spots Robin’s blinking eyes, he smiles reassuringly. Robin barely feels the arm the prince puts around his shoulders. He’s speaking, his lips are moving, but Robin cannot understand. Robin is certain Chrom’s pulse is too fast, but he can’t spot the ping in his blurred vision. He stares at the prince. That blast must have messed something up in his processors.

< _Engage safe mode > _

< _Safe mode engaged >_

Robin relaxes a bit as the red text slows in his eyesight. Safe mode will put him at reduced function for a while, but this way he can assess the damage.

Chrom draws Robin to his feet, and it’s as if Robin is paralyzed - he stands where Chrom leaves him. Worry rises in Chrom’s expression. He pulls Robin’s helmet off, cups his face. “…all right?”

Robin wants to speak, wants to reassure Chrom he’s still in here… but he can’t. His mouth won’t form words. He can only stare.

Chrom’s words blur in and out. “…rest easy now…”

< _Transmit message to Chrom: Something’s wrong, but we can fix it._ >

< _Message not sent_ >

< _Transmit message to Chrom: Chrom, are you getting this?_ >

< _Message not sent_ >

<Transmit message: _CHROM! >_

< _Message not sent_ >

Robin blinks at Chrom, slow, and a smile drifts over his face. It feels out of place in this tense situation, but he cannot stop it. From the corner of his eye, his right arm, his _cyborg_ arm, rises. The Levin sword is clutched in his fingers. Hadn’t he dropped that when he fell?

Robin never expected it would feel like this - he’s calm, his breathing perfectly regular, as if they hadn’t just been through a bloody battle. As if his arm isn’t raising the glowing Levin sword to strike at Chrom.

Chrom must sense the buildup of electricity around them, the crackle and the surge. He must sense Robin’s intent toward him. He speaks, but the words are lost to the high-pitched feedback in Robin’s head. Chrom watches as Robin’s arm raises the blade and the lightning leaps toward him. The prince spins to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast.

It is only as Robin advances that he starts to realize what the real cause is. It has nothing to do with the Plegian king’s attack - and everything to do with the strange download.

_< Abort Grima.exe>_

_< Path not found>_

_< ABORT GRIMA.EXE>_

_< Path not found>_

_< Abort all motor functions>_

_< Access denied>_

Robin cannot stop this.

Chrom is turning toward him, and something red glitters across his visor. Robin can read it backwards through the duraplast - detpurroC.

Corrupted.

“Robin, no,” Chrom whispers. His eyes are so wide Robin can see his black pupils. His sword sags.

_< Heartrate: Chrom, 108 bpm> _

_Chrom, no. Raise your sword. Fight me!_

Laughter rings and echoes in his head, and it does not sound sane.

Chrom’s voice comes through, tinny and distorted. “Robin! You can fight this! Don't give in to it!”

Another charge is building in the Levin sword, and everything gets a bit brighter. The hairs on the back of Robin’s neck stand on end.

_< Levin sword: 14% battery remaining>_

Chrom catches the second blast with Falchion, breathing hard as the brilliance fades.

_< Falchion: 8% battery remaining_>

“Fight for me!” Chrom shouts.

_Go for the neck, Chrom._

But he doesn't. He holds the sword between them, but not truly raised at Robin.

Robin laughs, harsh and too bright. His hand releases the Levin sword, and his body moves toward Chrom. He doesn’t hear the clatter as the sword falls away. He doesn’t hear Chrom’s harsh breathing, the words he’s speaking to Robin, although he sees his mouth moving and his chest rising, faster and faster.

_The neck, Chrom_.

Chrom thinks about it as the red word flashes in his display again. Robin sees panic and horror in his eyes, tracing the line of Robin’s exposed throat. He must be remembering the morning’s closeness, just as Robin is.

For a moment, Robin sees Chrom thinking about the words he’s said to him before every battle. He thinks about it, but then retreats.

Chrom won't do it.

If Robin’s being honest with himself, he knew Chrom wouldn’t be able to do it. His distress only mounted every time Robin repeated it, through all those battles.

Robin has to do it himself.

His consciousness dives into his files, searching for one directory in particular. There are harsh securities surrounding it, keeping all but the most determined programs from gaining access. Robin tackles the self-imposed obstructions, ripping at the layers, tossing commands as fast as he dares.

_< Activate self-repair sequence>_

_< Access denied>_

_< Activate slumber sequence>_

_< Access denied>_

Safe mode should allow him access to these features, but he’s not surprised by the resistance. Grima’s sticky code is everywhere now, propagating in the corners.

Beyond, he senses Chrom, running toward the shield-wall. Robin’s body is catching up. Current gathers in Robin’s hand, his cyborg fingers, arcing between the joints. It’s more than enough to stop a human heart.

_Let. Me. IN!_

Robin rips through the code, using his own cipher to cut away his protections. He tears at the file, vaguely aware that Grima is watching, taking notes. Robin won’t get another chance at this. He has to make it count.

Robin’s cyborg arm grabs Chrom, spinning him back. Chrom goes with it, taking Robin’s flesh shoulder and pulling him close.

“Fight this, Robin!” Chrom says. As if it’s that simple.

The gleaming barrier flutters gently at Chrom's back. Robin’s cyborg hand cocks back, readying a fatal blow.

“Robin, don’t do this! I love--” Chrom’s last desperate words are cut off as Robin’s hand strikes.

With a triumphant surge, Robin’s consciousness bursts through. He presses a code-word into the waiting sequence.

_< Activate Protocol Chrom> _

_< Deactivation accepted>_

_< Embedding memories> _

_< Abort memory capture> _There’s no time for that.

_< Deactivation enabled>_

The current fades from his hand, from Chrom’s body, dulling and going out.

_< Injury reported: Chrom. Breathing agitated. Suit protocols activated. Adrenaline issued.>_

Robin’s body falls back, and Chrom, gasping, catches him.

The prince lowers him gently to the ground, and Robin tunes in to his words. Chrom should leave him alone, should stay far away until the deactivation is complete. He wouldn’t be Chrom if he did, though. “- in there, Robin! We’ll fix this-”

“Chrom,” Robin whispers, and Chrom stops speaking to listen. “Are you… I - tried - I'm sorry...”

“Don’t leave me, please.” Salty tears fall on Robin’s face, distant but important.

Robin raises his twitching hand and brushes fingers against Chrom’s cheek, beneath the visor. They come away wet.

“May we meet again…” he whispers, as the deactivation sequence floods his body with a cold substance like liquid lead. It reaches his heart, and he feels distant panic as his human parts fight to keep it pumping. His body jerks, feebly, once, his flesh-and-bone hand clutched in Chrom’s. “...In a better life. I’m sorry, Chrom.”

“Don’t--”

Robin’s audible and visual receptors shut down, dissipating into white noise and gray static.

A memory surfaces from his files, a pleasant distraction from the terrible non-pain.

 

_“When we get back,” Chrom says, pressing Robin’s knuckles to his mouth. They are naked, lying together, shoulder to shoulder, tangled in sheets. “After all this… I want to take you to the sea, and marry you there on the beach, a quiet ceremony. We’ll walk the sand, barefooted, without those damned heavy exosuits, and I’ll teach you to swim.”_

_“Can we write our names in the sand?” Robin asks, hiding a smile behind his other hand. It’s ridiculous, how enchanted he is by this. He’s seen images of the seashore, of course, but Chrom promised it is so much better than the vids._

_“I’ll carve our names into the wall of the castle,” Chrom teases, but Robin suspects he’s serious._

 

Robin has never seen the ocean Chrom spoke of… and now he never will.

_I saved him. This is enough. I saved Chrom. I saved--_

_< Deactivation complete>_

 

END PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought! 
> 
> To everyone hoping for me to continue my other fanfics... I will hopefully be getting to those soon. I wanted to celebrate Chrobinweek - and ESPECIALLY this prompt - because I may have begged really hard for this prompt. (Not that the others needed much convincing, mind... we all love angst) 
> 
> Thanks go to Ari for the helpful beta-read, Zet for brainstorming the early idea with me, and Esme, who helped me figure out the ending. And thanks to all my readers who leave such nice messages! I know sometimes I am crap at answering them but I see them all and you make my day. <3


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